My tone has only been moderated of late out of fatigue, but my caustic bite will invariably imperil me in short order. Attendant care coordination used to be part of my job, but whether Medicaid Waiver Services were centralized into Pennsylvania's Independent Living Enrollment under Corbett or Wolf, Maximus is a centralized Marxist obscenity, and I have absolutely no idea how to survive it. The system is worse than any of the nigger stories I've told you, just the system, which is a hornet's nest of cheap immigrant labor. I hear my followers plummeting even as I write this, knowing we all grow frail and need support, but this intake system is a disaster. The broker I met yesterday said it covers the entire Commonwealth. Hundreds of residents have probably died, or lapsed into a coma, waiting for services to kick in.
I have no more reason to live, not after this round, recuperating and failing at the same time. None, and my body stresses may not leave me much choice, soon, whether I hope to save my published works or not. The grandmothers valiantly attempting to restore me cannot see my rapid before and after prolapse in on myself, so much so the little suicide plan in my head won't work to the extent I've regressed. It isn't that I want to die, I just know depending on blacks is tantamount to a fatality, and whites ain't gonna spare me. I know it already. I cannot be a good ideological libertarian being crushed by entitlements, and if I have more time than I believe, I am campaigning for euthanasia. I part company with all who think this marginalization maintains dignity, and when I do meet the case manager, I am going to end up pissing her, him, off.
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